


Welcome to Hell...'s Kitchen

by LivefromG25



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Oral, This is all so pointless, but its there, not very detailed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:23:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16478075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivefromG25/pseuds/LivefromG25
Summary: So, remember Armie did that book hunt? Yeah?Remember it was down a rando alley? Yeah?Remember it was weird? Yeah me too.Wonder how he found the place?





	Welcome to Hell...'s Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> I am not actually sure what their status is here. They wouldn't tell me. I don't know what they have, or haven't, done before.  
> Its all fiction anyway; all a work of my own imagination however it was aided and abetted by the crew. Love you gals. 
> 
> p.s. I haven't written in what feels like forever so... y'kno... please be kind.  
> p.p.s. Re the title: I know the alley aint in Hells Kitchen but poetic licence... it's close enough.

Armie glances down at his watch. 17.05. He sighs inwardly. _Seventeen-oh-five._ That means he has been walking around this city for _6 hours_ and, judging by the excitement on Timothee’s friends faces, this non-stop tour is still nowhere near completion.

Jesus fucking Christ. 

He should have known he should never have said anything. The minute he had informed Timothee about landing the theatre gig he had been inundated with messages, photos and links of places he “just had to” go and visit. Not seeming to care that this wasn’t Armie’s first time in New York, nor even passing notice that Armie had spent _days_ in New York _with him_ , Timothee had gone into full tour guide mode. 

And it wasn’t long before his friends got in the act.

Armie smothered a small smile at how genuinely adorable he secretly found it despite the fact that no less than 12hrs after his flight had landed he was on his feet marching up and down street after street. He desperately tried not to show all 31 of his years by begging, pleading, for a five minute sit down. 

“And over here”, Timothee’s pal, a blonde guy that Armie’s pretty sure is either called David…. Or Stephen… turns to him, gesturing towards a non-descript, barely there dark narrow alleyway. “Over here, well… lets just say we spent many an hour in and around there”. He winks softly at Armie before grinning, flicking his eyes towards Timothee. He turns back, leading the way as Armie slows down in confusion. 

Timothee slows too, turning towards Armie. The sleeve of his oversized hoodie is currently being worked on in his mouth and his cap is pulled low, masking his eyes. Armie shrugs at him with a quizzical expression. He’s not sure if he is being made fun of here or if he just didn’t get the joke. 

“I don’t get it.” he states, not bothering to pretend otherwise. 

Timothee throws a look over his shoulder as his friends continue on - “Now, over to the left…”

Turning back, his head tips gently to one side as he peers up at Armie. “What don’t you get?”

“I’m confused. What am I supposed to be looking at?”

Timothee releases the wet, chewed fabric from his mouth, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand. He laughs softly.  
“Dude, we have just walked the length and breadth of this city listening to Jacob’s bullshit landmark history lessons and this is the first time you’re confused?”

Jacob. Ah, he was close.

“Yeah. I mean, I am pretty sure you didn’t hang out in the bins behind”, he looks up at the signage on the wall, “whatever this poky little place is for fun. So, what is the relevance? And what is so amusing about it? Like, is this where you bribed the older kids to buy you smokes or what's the deal?”

Timothee takes another quick look at the retreating figures of his friends before looking back at Armie. Hitching his wet sleeve up his arm, he reaches down and takes Armie’s hand in his own, luring him gently towards to alley way.

“Come with me.”

“But-” Armie gestured futilely to Timothee’s friends. “Won’t they-”

“We will be back before Jay even knows we’re gone, _come on_.”

Armie allows himself to be led, feeling like a naughty school kid as he passes the threshold of the street. The city noise suddenly dulls around him and his other senses quickly pick up the slack. The temperature has dropped a couple of degrees in the shade, Timothee’s cool fingertips suddenly a sense of warmth around his own. 

Notably, it really fucking smells along here. They pass by bin cages that could do with being emptied to at least attempt to rid the place of the pungent aroma; an attractive mixture of decaying rubbish and, well, piss. Armie’s face scrunches in distaste. 

“Tim…” he stage whispers, gently tugging back on Timothee’s hand. “Where are we going?”

Timothee doesn't speak and instead pulls Armie closer by the arm, light giggles falling from his lips. 

The alleyway opens up slightly, a shaft of light falling in around some overturned beer kegs. Timothee lets go of Armie’s hand - he misses the warmth instantly - and twirls 360, his face upturned into the sunshine. 

He looks angelic. That is, until his gaze falls on Armie and his lips twist into a devilish smile, his eyes twinkling. 

“We used to come down here, sit on these barrels and smoke”. 

Armie gives him a brief nod, pretending to look around the small area but secretly just hoping for a right sized barrel to sit on. If he could just rest his legs for a moment…

He selects one and leans against it heavily. Timothee does another slow pirouette, following his movements. Armie glances around at the buildings, the steel fire escapes, the small windows. His gaze falls to the floor and he laughs softly with a nod of his head. 

“Just smoke, huh?”

Timothee follows his gaze to a small pile of debris that someone had gallantly swept up but, no doubt questioning their life choices, gave up on before bothering to put in the bin. A couple of candy wrappers, a bud light bottle, cigarette butts and, front and centre, a used condom. 

He turns back to Armie with an impish grin. 

“Well, _that_ one isn’t mine” he laughs softly before budging Armie, nestling himself next to him against the large barrel. 

“We used to come to smoke weed here. My friend Ethan's place is around the way. You remember Ethan, he was the one who sent you the tickets to see his show while you’re here?”

Armie nods with a low hum. Ethan. Right. He could have sworn that dude was called Paul… he had some serious memorising to do. It didn’t help that Timothee rarely mentioned the same friend twice.

“Yeah, his younger brother, Mason, would keep sketch for us, in case one of our parents rang. We’d always say we were staying over at his place but we rarely ever made it a full night there. We’d all have to go racing back if the phone rang”. Timothee laughs softly to himself at the memory. 

Armie smiles too, picturing a younger, cheekier, more troublesome Timothee. Then huffs at himself when he realises the image it conjured was as far back as a week ago. Some things really didn’t change. 

They stand together in companionable silence for a while, Armie acutely aware of how close Timothee is, their bodies almost flush. His entire left side felt like it barely belongs to him. He observes with almost dissociative interest as his little finger lifts itself, all of its own accord, and gently caresses the back of Timothee’s own, a fingertip barely peeping out of the oversized sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

He continues to stare as Timothee’s own fingers come to life, delicately interlacing themselves with Armie’s, a touch so light Armie wasn’t 100% sure he could even say it was happening. He glances skywards.

“What about all of these windows back here? Hardly that private? Didn’t you worry you would get caught or in trouble?”

Timothee’s pulls his fingers back - Armie immediately feels the chill - and pushes himself up, away from the barrel. For a second Armie hates himself, fearful he’s brought too much real world into their … whatever the fuck they’re doing here is… but Timothee doesn’t move away. He turns to face him, his chest at eye level, before hooking his index finger back under the bridge of Armie’s hand against the metal rim. 

“You’d think but, man, no-one gives a fuck what's going on outside their apartment here in New York. For a start, you probably don’t wanna know. And secondly, if they were really that bothered, they would just step outside.”

His thumb softly strokes the back of Armie’s hand as his body sways gently, left and right. Armie learnt early on that Timothee rarely, if ever, stands still. He glances back up the alleyway, his other hand reaching for Timothee’s sweatshirt, pulling him closer when he sees they’re still alone. 

“What about your friends?”

Timothee positions himself with a leg either side of Armie’s thigh, their entwined hands playing at making shapes, both eyes glued to them for fear of looking at each other and breaking the moment. 

“They’re not stupid, Armie. Keeping you this occupied today was more to get at me than anything else.” He risks a glance up, sharply, “Not that they don’t enjoy spending time with you! I just mean-”

“I know what you mean.”

They stare at each other for a couple of moments, the muted sounds of the city slowly being drowned out by their own laboured breathing, the thud of their own heartbeat. 

Armie is the first to crack.

“I, err, I don’t even have a smoke on me, y’know, to help you “relive your youth”. Also known as getting up to whatever you we’re getting up to back here last summer.”

Timothee’s lips curve into a warm smile, the soft glint of his teeth looking more inviting than Armie feels is necessary. His arms circle Armie’s neck as his hips cant forward, forcing more of Armie’s thigh between his own legs.

Armie tries hard to ignore the fact that Timothee has effectively just used his ball sack to massage the entirely of his own quad and instead focuses on his lips which are suddenly only inches from his own. 

“No I don’t have any either.” Timothee whispers, pausing for a second, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “But, umm, as I may have alluded to, I guess a cigarette wasn’t the only thing that I’ve put in my mouth back here.”

Faster than the words can even register, Timothee’s hands are are resting on Armie’s belt buckle, his golden eyes searching Armie’s face for consent. Unable to gauge his response, Timothee leans forward ever-so-slightly, close enough for his breath to ghost over Armie’s own lips. 

“I am game for giving you the full New York experience if you are... ”

Armie pulls back, an inch, before throwing a glance over Timothee’s shoulder. They’re still alone. He feels Timothee chuckle at his paranoia.

Half unable to believe what is being offered here and - more urgently - half unable to quell his enthusiasm for it, Armie tries to find the right words. The thought of semi-publicly having those sinful lips wrapped around his cock is just-. He clears his throat.

“Are you suggesting what i think you are?”. His voice is deep, rough. He is almost surprised he found it. 

“Think of it as a New York initiation.” 

Their gazes lock for a moment before Armie nods gently, _yes please._  
Within seconds Timothee has unclasped his belt and freed his cock from the confines of his jeans, into the warm, wet safety of his mouth. 

Armie groans louder than he intended at the beautiful shock of it all. The guttural noise echos off the walls and he immediately tenses, ears straining to pick up whether he was overheard. He isn’t sure what he expects - someone to tell him to stop? That they were ringing the police? - but he relaxes when all he can hear is the sound of wet skin as Timothee takes him over and over down his throat.

He briefly wonders how many others have been treated to the talents of Timothee’s tongue in back alleys of New York but he quickly discards the thought. It doesn’t matter, all that matters is right now. And right now, it is _him_ and this is - without question - the best blow job he has ever received. 

His moans are louder now, more frequent and he knows he is close. He runs his fingers through Timothee’s curls, his nails lightly dragging at the back of his scalp before moving down his neck, index finger tapping out a morse code; a signal he is about to come. 

To his surprise, Timothee doesn't retreat. Instead he increases his pressure and movements, groaning his own pleasure around Armie’s cock until the first hot spurts of come are flowing down his throat. 

He waits for the tremors to cease, for Armie’s grip on his shoulder to loosen, before he slowly releases him from his mouth, gently lapping him clean. He strokes his softening cock gently before returning to his feet and pressing his lips against Armie’s.

If Armie is surprised at how natural he finds kissing Timothee, he doesn't show it. He hums appreciatively, his tongue seeking out the taste of himself in Timothee’s mouth. He licks and bites and laps at him until Timothee has tucked his cock back into his jeans, done up his fly, fastened his belt. 

They pull away from each other, grinning before falling back into themselves, foreheads pressed together as their breathing return to normal. 

Armie isn’t quite sure what his own face is doing - he can’t feel it - but Timothee’s smile is wide and he can only hope he is reciprocating. He is dizzy, disorientated, in love. 

Timothee puts a hand on his chest, pushing away slightly, putting physical distance between them without breaking their newly forged bond. 

“Welcome to New York, Armie”.


End file.
